


Slip of the Tongue

by zetsubonna



Series: Caquelon [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 23:43:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2670803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetsubonna/pseuds/zetsubonna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ANONYMOUS ASKED:<br/>I'm so nervous I'm requesting wrong, sorry in advance. If you're still looking for prompts I've definitely wondered if in your verse Steve ever actually said fuck while in the act, or a time he got a chance to turn the tables on bucky with the dirty talk. Just if you want to!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slip of the Tongue

Before Bucky, Steve never much liked it when the fellas he’d fool around with were talky. It was too easy to hear something unsaid, to take something the wrong way- or the correct way- to get his feelings bruised. He’d rather just fuck quiet in the dark and go on about his business.

Bucky, though.

 

Bucky’s like Steve in that he’s always had a mouth, different in that he’d rather use his actions than his tongue, but when he’s hot he’s got a way with words that makes Steve tingle. It reaches into his very self, threads all through him, wraps him up, warm and sweet and whole. Bucky’s a sweet talker, he croons and praises and encourages, he moans like he’s having the time of his life and he never, ever stops letting Steve know he remembers who he’s with, who’s making him feel so good. Bucky knows, Bucky knows. Bucky knows and he’s always so grateful, it’s yes and please and amen and Hallelujah and thank you, thank you, thank you.

Steve’s just opposite.

He can’t do much. He wants to, goddamn it, he wants to fight his own battles, pull his own weight, haul out and handle every hurdle life puts in his way. Not being able to do what he wants because his shitty little broke down chest won’t let him is the worst goddamn trial of his life. He can talk, he can cut a fella down to size with his tongue as sure as a tailor can trim a pair of good pants with shears, but he can’t back it up and that makes him madder than a hornet. Except in the sack. He knows what he wants and he can make it happen. He can play Bucky like a piano, break him down to tiny pieces, disassemble his nerves and put them back together any way he wants them, any time he feels like it.

He can’t talk when he’s bothered. He can’t talk worth spit.

Steve likes it when Bucky says his name, gives him pet names and says his name in between,  _baby, Steve, baby doll, baby boy, Steve, Stevie, oh baby, oh sweetheart, my sweet baby, my baby, Stevie baby,_  that’s the shit that gets Steve’s motor running, revving him right up out of control. God, but Bucky’s sweet. It makes Steve hot, makes him float right up into the clouds that he’s the fella who can twist Bucky up in knots like this, even if all he can say in response to all that sweet talk is _Bucky, Bucky, yes, Bucky, Jesus, Bucky, Christ, Buck, yes, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky-_

He wants to think Bucky gets it. Understands why saying his name is so damned important. And then he slips.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses, and Bucky’s fingers tighten on his hips.

"Christ, baby," Bucky moans, and everything goes down so fast it makes the Cyclone look like it’s standing still.

It’s almost on purpose, weeks later, when he does it again. “God,  _yes_ , Bucky, Jesus,  _fuck me_ -“ _  
_

He bruises like a goddamn peach, he’s gotta quit doing that, but it felt so nice-

It’s three little words. They’ve been screwing for almost a year. Everything is magic, secret little pockets of magic in the bullshit and the darkness and the pain, he leans up and breathes the little phrase he’s been saying into the soft, sweet shell of Bucky’s ear after he’s been, finally, flipped down under him.

"Come in me, Buck."

Bucky’s  _gone_. He’s out of his damn  _tree._ Steve’s never seen him like this, never felt him  _lose_  it, never had to endure Bucky like he was a spring storm, and afterwards he’s pink and contrite, so embarrassed and Steve’s laughing, bruised and sore and happy and squirming, best he can without hurting himself, hugging and peppering Bucky with kisses.

"Don’t  _say_  shit like that,” Bucky complains, burying his red face in Steve’s neck. “God damn, baby.”

"No promises," Steve purrs, combing his fingers through the back of Bucky’s hair. "Can’t make no promises, Bucky."


End file.
